Unfinished
by Vintersorg
Summary: The hired-sword, Nouri, comes to Badon Hill - but who is the scarred warrior really? Why does Arthur feel an instant connection with the deadly sword-fighter and why does it all seem to come down to the Christian Mother Church? DagonetOC
1. Prologue

**UNFINISHED**  
by VINTERSORG

_Kill eye tumbling come out of the sky  
Kill eye a fiery retreat from the stars  
Kill eye he came clambering over the wall  
Kill eye halfway to hell and beyond  
I wanna hug my mother  
and the sky above her  
I want the earth to open up  
I want the earth to open up_  
- Crowded House

- - -

**Prologue**

Spring was upon them, though on the great grass plains that mattered little, seeing as there only really were two seasons. One when the sun shined during the day, then during the evening and morning the rain poured down. And then one season when a thin layer of snow lay on the ground and the cold north wind howled like a pack of rabid wolves and chilled you to the bone. The bare steppe-land of Sarmatia was unforgiving and deadly, but it was also the home of the Sarmatians and their tribes of proud warriors. They had managed to acclimate to the rough conditions of living and to them the amazing land of grass oceans was heaven. Here they lived as nomads, keeping horses and goats. No boundaries, no limitations -- just earth and sky and war: their most important gods.

One of the many tribes was the Sauromatae, once a large tribe that had spread fear only by the mentioning of their name. They were no longer as large as they once had been, at the peek of their golden era they had been able to muster 200000 warriors on horses, now they at best could gather 200. But still they were proud and strong, roaming the bare land in small family groups of 20 to 40 adults. The Sauromatae women were also warriors like their men -- as was the custom of all Sarmatians tribes -- and thought equal to men, maybe even higher valued nowadays when all boys belonged to Rome for 15 years.

- - -

The sun had rose a few hours earlier and the camp was filled with life, all around men and women were performing their daily chores. Taking care of weapons, making arrows, some were cooking food or repairing clothes.

"Tell me again, son" a handsome, tall, dark man asked as he was in the process of mending a large tear in a tunic. "How did this happen?"

"Bors fell off his horse," an equally dark and beautiful child replied in her brother's place, earning a dark glare and a slap to the back of her head by her 16-year-old brother.

"Don't hit you sister!" Nagged their mother, a short and stocky woman named Dora who sat a few feet away sharpening the blade of a large sword. The boy had wits enough to look at least a bit ashamed and pulled his 9-year-old sister into his lap and started to tickle her, making her scream with laugher.

The siblings looked nothing like each other, she had her father's angular features while he had their mother's round ones. Dora was not a beautiful woman and her marriage to the children's father, Kardok, had been wildly discussed. She was short, muscular and stocky, her face was round and her cheeks like the wild apples that grew in the forests on the edge of the Sarmatian Sea (the Baltic Ocean). Her eyes were a mixture between blue and grey and her light brown hair hair was thin and lanky. Kardok on the other hand had been, and still was, considered one of the most handsome men in the Sarmatian nation. He was tall, wiry and full of angles and edges. His hair and eyes were as dark as the darkest soil, filled with life and strength.

Time after another he had been more or less forced to defend his decision about marrying Dora, but he did so gladly because he loved her dearly. It had obviously not been her looks that attracted him in the first place, but he persisted in telling her that she was the most beautiful creature on earth to him, though it had been her personality that had acted like a magnet and pulled him in. She was loud and merry, always talking and laughing, telling jokes and smiling. Her children were the same, though even in this respect her daughter were more like Kardok than her brother was, for she was less so, but still more talkative than her father.

- - -

As the day dragged on life in the camp followed its habitual course. Bors sparred with the other boys and Dora taught archery to the near-beginners, remarking on this or that about their stance and their aim. Kardok and his daughter rode out to hunt and as the sun had reached its high peek in the sky the two returned with a large deer thrown over the back of the young girl's blue roan gelding.

The spirits were high, winter had passed and the tribe would begin to move north east in the next week or so. Bors' aunt Olida was shaving the fur off the deer-skin, this particular piece was going to be used in the making of Bors' future tent, the young man smiled as he was called over to help.

Every activity stopped as if by magic, even Bors' walk was cut short, when his sister's high voice yelled out two words that filled the cold air with the feeling of even colder dread: "Look, Romans!"

Far off, at the soft hills by the horizon, a group of Romans on horses approached. Together with the Romans was a group of young Sarmatian boys, all of them somewhere between 10 and 20 summers. Some boys had their own horse, others rode two and two or walked next to the other boys.

The sight made the heart of each of the Sauromataes drop, even among the young children. The Romans had come at last, this particular group had not seen nor heard any word of Romans for the passed 8 years and they had hoped that they would not for many years yet. They had in fact hoped that the generation of young boys they now had would be able to grow up and marry and forever stay in Sarmatia, but their dreams had been in vain. They knew that, had known from the start, but it is said that the moment you stop hope and dream you die.

As if on a given signal the camp was set in motion again, but now they hurried on and off to gather their weapons, because they would rather die for their hopes and dreams than die because they stopped hoping and dreaming.

"We're here to pick up your sons, all over 10 years of age must come with us." Stated the tall Roman that rode in front, he looked down at the Sarmatians as if they were an unpleasant stench under his nose, and maybe they in a way were. He would rather be a centurion someplace west than a simple captain over legionaries that fetched Sarmatian boys to be knights in the east.

"You will have none of our children!" Declared Olida in a forceful voice also in Latin as her hand gripped the handle of her drawn sword. Her dark eyes glared fiercely at the Roman from beneath her dark-brown fringe and if looks could kill the Roman would have fallen off his horse stone-dead by now.

"If they won't come freely we will take them by force," the same Roman retorted coldly, glaring at this barbarian woman who dared to question his orders. "It is not up to the conquered to resist the will of their conquerer."

An arrow flew from Dora's drawn bow, hitting the Roman next to the speaker in the eye, throwing him from the horse and killing him instantly. With a small grunt she hooked another arrow and aimed it for the speaker, but didn't release it, instead she started speaking.

"That victory is centuries outdated! Leave now and we'll spare the rest of you." Dora's eyes flashed as if there was a storm brewing in those storm-grey eyes, soon lightning would strike and that would be dangerous.

The Roman captain only smirked, as if this was something he had waited for all month, a tribe that would fight back. Maybe he liked being stationed here in the large emptiness that was Sarmatia after all. With a small hand-signal, the wink of his hand really, one of the Roman archers released an arrow that hit Dora's lower-left-arm. The arrow hit with enough velocity to snake its way in beneath her arm-guard and in between the two bones in the lower-arm.

"Gods!" With a loud scream she dropped to her knees, releasing the bow and clutching her arm. The pain must have been almost unbearable, yet she did not shed any tears, she just sat there and grimaced.

This was the signal and all Romans, save two that stayed with the boys, drew their swords and advance on horseback. The sound of screams and steal upon steel filed the frosty spring air. Many men and women had been ridden down even before they had been able to unsheathe their swords, knives or daggers, others had been shoot down with arrows as they fought with some Roman. Within minutes the camp looked like a battle-zone, tents were on fire and all grown men lay either dead of lethally injured on the ground as did most of the women too.

When there was no-one left to fight the Romans dismounted and wiped off the blood on their swords on the clothes of one of the corpses and began to walk around the camp. Some began to go through the tents that were left untouched by the flames for anything valuable, other dragged women and girls behind of or into tents to have their way with them.

Close to the centre of the of the camp Kardok lay dead on top of a dead Roman he managed to kill before another one split his head in two from behind, half on top of him his young daughter clings to his dead body as if her life depended on this.

"Da' you can't leave me," the girl said miserably into his back in their Sarmatian tongue, her small fists balling in the fabric of her father's tunic as she tried her best to hold back the tears, "You haven't told me 'bout that last mission you and Uther went on... Da' you can't die!"

Not far away Bors sat at the side of their dying mother, his shoulders were shaking as if he was close to tears. The left arm of his tunic was wet with blood, as Dora's eyes took in this the pain in them was replaced by concern, she knew she didn't have long left to live now and wished for all the world that her oldest child would be all right.

As a large tear rolled down his cheek the woman painfully lifted her arm and wiped it away with her hand, smiling warmly at the boy.

"Don't cry, boy," she tried to console her son, "You'll do whatever the Romans tell you and you will live. Don't grow to be a cold man, if you make the best of every situation you'll be happy and love life no matter what life may have in store for you. Always be kind and loving to those that deserve it, never forget Sarmatia, come back once you're free, any tribe will be happy to take you in."

"I will, mum," the boy snivelled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "I will... I will make you proud."

"Bah, these people are even poorer than beggars!" one of the Roman soldiers exclaimed as he exited one of the tents, his eyes travelled to the crying boy and he sighed. With three large strides he had walked over to him and pulled Bors' to his feet, the boy was too distressed to protest and was pushed towards one of the tribe's horses that had been gathered by the two still mounted Romans and the Sarmatian boys.

A few other Romans came back from their small pilfering raid and the two who had watched the boys dismounted to see if there was any fun left for them to do. One of them walked over to Dora's still body and smiled evilly as he found her yet alive, he pulled her to a sitting position and pulled out one of his daggers.

"This one's too ugly to even rape!" he laughed as he slit her throat.

The other one had walked over to where Bors' sister lay begging their father not to be dead, without having to use much strength he lifted the girl to her feet.

"Now this one is a different story," the Roman called over to his friend, showing him the young girl's beautiful face, earning a malicious laugh from the first Roman.

"Yes, a whole different story..." he said as he followed the Roman who was dragging the girl with him into one of the tents. The girl had gathered her wits as she had begun to be pulled closer to the tent and her tiny voice that was full of sadness called out, first to her father, but he was dead she knew. Then to her mother, but she was bleeding to death, making gurgling noises as she tried to caught blood out of her lungs. In a last attempt to save herself she called for her brother, but he was too sad to help her and he knew there was nothing he could do and so did she.

- - -

As the months passed and they slowly closed on Gaul Bors was sure his family were all dead, but he tried to see some kind of light in all the darkness, just like his mother told him to. At least he was alive and he would live his life and make them proud. Yes, he thought cynically, he would become a bloody knight and deadly warrior and drag as many souls as he could to their final resting place before he too died and joined them in the Land of the Dead.

Elysium, their father had called it, though he spoke seldom at all and almost only to his daughter who had been his favourite. Maybe, Bors thought, he had seen his young self in her and wanted to live through her. That was possible, Bors thought and smiled, remembering how often his father had spoke of freedom and all he would have done if he hadn't been 15 years in Rome's service. His smile faltered as it occurred to him that with them all dead his sister would never be able to do all those things father had spoken about and she would never carry his sword as he had said she would. The amazing sword their father had stored away in their family's tent for safe keeping was probably in the hands of some Roman now, but even if he saw it he would not know, he hadn't seen it that many times.

Bors' trail of thoughts were abruptly stopped as they rode in through the gates to the city in Gaul where he would spend months, or years, depending on if they thought him good enough to be shipped off to Britain or not. He screwed up his face as the stench of rotten garbage and dirt hit him from the large city. Now he definitely knew why his people never settled down and built cities, by the gods this was going to take some time getting used to.

* * *

That was a killer! No honestly it was, I'm not used to writing anything in English so I'm really quite dead now. I'll try to have the first actual chapter finished by let's say... Tomorrow, sounds good? I got most of the story finished in my head anyhow so all I have to do is find enough time and energy to write it down. 

This is my very first fan fiction and I'd love it if you reviewed and told me how you think I'm doing, that would be a great help :)


	2. Chapter I

**UNFINISHED**  
by VINTERSORG

_'Cause me and you are same  
I known you all my life  
I don't know your name_  
- The Streets

- - -

**Chapter I**  
- 12 years later -

A lone rider galloped across a misty field, the air was thick and heavy with the promise of rain -- loads of rain -- but seeing as the weather in Britannia are as predictable as a woman's mood the dark clouds might even part and the sun shine in a minute or two. The forest on both sides of the field were all but hidden by thick fog that seemed to float like some kind of magical liquid. If the rider would have bothered to look it would not have been able to make out the trunks of the trees, nor of the figures coloured with woad that watched it ride past.

The rider rode upon a large black horse, it was obvious it was a gelding that had been castrated when it was only a foal. A grey cloak flapped behind in the speed-wind as if it had a life of its own. From the clothes one could guess the rider was a knight or a warrior of some kind and that was probably what the Pict warriors in the woods thought.

Below the cloak one could see that the rider wore light armour: a thick leather jacket on top of a chain-mail shirt, from below it one could distinctly make out a long-sleeved riding-shirt in the colour of dried blood; the legs were draped in dark leather leggings and the boots were an even darker shade of brown. The rider's lower-left-arm had an arm-guard on its inside, this and the bow on the rider's back as well as quiver strapped to the horse's saddle spoke of it being an archer; though the hilt and scabbard of a large sword could be seen at the rider's hip and said that maybe the bow was only for hunting after all. The face of the rider was thin and young with lively, dark-brown eyes that scanned the field attentively, it was framed by a mop of unruly hair that was closer in shade to black than to brown and reached down just below the shoulders. A young boy they thought, maybe not older than seventeen, definitely younger than nineteen.

"He's in a hurry," Eoin observed, speaking in Gaelic to the Woad next to him. "Wonder who he is."

"I've got no idea," answered Phelan "But Merlin knows and says to let him pass, he has an important role in the things to come."

"I wish he wouldn't speak in riddles," Wynne complained with a sigh "Not all things that lay in the future are pleasant, we might save ourselves a lot of trouble by killing the boy now."

"Merlin says to let him pass unharmed and pass he shall!" Phelan snarled, suddenly angry that anyone even dared to question the judgement of their spiritual leader and war-chief.

"Could the three of you be any louder?" hissed a fourth Woad from high above the first three, he was the one who could see the rider most clearly as he were above the fog and mist crouching low on a high branch with a bow. Trevor was his name and he had begun to get slightly worried as the rider had slowed down his horse and begun to spy about as if something had made him suspicious.

A few moments passed and the Woads held their breath, nature too was holding its breath it seemed because everything was quiet, even the wind seemed to have died down slightly. Then as if the rider had found what it looked for the horse began walking again and was quickly urged on until they were galloping closer to their final destination again.

- - -

Five hours and a whole lot more aggravated Pict warriors later the rider was finally closing in on the milecastle of Badon Hill. When the knights' graveyard came up to the left the rider slowed its horse to a trot, looking at the mounds with wonderment. The several hundreds of grave-mounds, each with a sword buried to the hilt at its head, tore at the rider's heart. Two hundred years worth of knights, all dead at the hands of an empire none of them belonged to, dead carrying out a cause not their own.

"So, it is here all those boys that are abducted and forced to become slaves for Rome lie at rest when they die faraway from home," the rider murmured as in question to a higher power, head bent in silent respect of the Sarmatians that lay there.

A few minutes later the rider passed the gates of the milecastle, no-one tried said anything, the Roman guards only shared a worried look and then tried their best to act as if they had seen nothing. As the rider finally slowed down to a walking pace outside the gates to the stable square a young squire ran out, taking a good look at the rider and then smiling excitedly as he notice the many weapons and repairs made on the clothes.

"I bring with me a message for Commander Artorius Castus," the rider said to the squire and dismounted, a small smile playing at its lips as the face of the young man lit up at the mentioning of the Knight commander.

"He's in his study," answered the squire, "If you'd like to stable your horse in the fortress stable I could take you to him later."

"I am sure Sag would be grateful," the rider smiled, "We have ridden hard all day and most of last night too, he would probably welcome a few hours of rest, as well as some fresh water."

"I reckon," the squire agreed, leading both rider and horse through the stable gates and to a free stall, "You can put him here, do you need me to fetch you a few brushes and a rag?"

"No, I got my own, but a bucket of water would be great." He nodded at this and had taken a step away to go fetch said bucket when it occurred to him that neither one of them had introduced themselves, he of course knew some people thought they were too great to even talk to squires, but this person didn't seem the sort to put on the holier-than-thou attitude.

So he turned back almost instantly and introduced himself to the warrior who was pulling off the saddlebags and saddle, "I'm Jols by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Jols," the rider replied almost amused at the youth's outstretched hand and shook it. "I'm Nouri."

"You're from Sarmatia?" asked Jols, studying the other's thin face, he thought it almost looked as if it had been carved out of flesh coloured marble. Nouri nodded saying that initially at least, but the world was more fun. At that Jols too nodded and he looked at the large horse, something hit him then and he became quite curious.

"Why do you call him Sag? Doesn't it mean 'dog' in your tongue?" the squire asked, he did find it funny that anyone would call such a large animal a dog, but maybe he had got it all wrong.

"Aye, it does," the rider grinned, "When I first met him he was a foal and had just lost his mother, he took up following me everywhere just like a dog, so that's where the name came from."

A moment or two passed and Jols was once again in the process of fetching a bucket of water for the horse, but Nouri's voice called him back.

"Oh, I almost forgot," the rider said, almost as if it was speaking to itself, but Jols knew better than to think that. "Is there a knight called Bors somewhere around here?"

"Yes there is.." he answered, but fell quiet a moment later as if there was something he should have remembered but did not. "Well, there is, but he and some other knights are on a mission right now, they're not expected back until the week after the next."

"Okay," Nouri said in way of thanks for the information, adding an explanation even though Jols didn't seem to expect one "I was just wondering, I'll be long gone 'till then."

"Where you going?" he asked, but then figured that it was not his place to ask so he just shook his head and excused himself to finally go and get Sag his water.

- - -

Arthur sighed, pulling a hand over his face as if that would help him grow less bored. The Roman, who strangely enough was one half Briton and one half Sarmatian, was seated at the desk in his study going over last month's reports from the turrets closest to Badon Hill. Every month a new captain was stationed at each of the two turrets, mainly because he and the other two legionaries wouldn't have to die of boredom so far from civilisation, but this brought with it more work for Arthur. Even though the content of the reports were alike none of the captains used the same words or phrasing and that forced him to go through them all. One of these month there would be something important and then he needed to know because he too had to write long reports, but his superior was the general stationed in Londinium.

The oil lamp spread a flickering light over the desk and once again Arthur tried to concentrate on the reports. He noticed to his immediate annoyance that the captain in the turret to the west was absolutely fresh, probably hadn't been in the Province more than a few days prior his watch and knew little to nothing about the 'strange blue animals moving on two and sometimes four legs'. The captain didn't know how to spell well either, another thing that annoyed the bored commander greatly.

A knock on the door disrupted the little concentration he had mustered moments earlier and he sighed as he called for whoever might be on the other side to come in. To his great surprise it was Jols, the knights' squire, one who should have known better than to disturb him when he went though watch reports.

"Arthur, you have a visitor," he said, emphasising on the word 'visitor' to let the man know this was not a Roman captain or other Roman military riffraff, this was someone Jols at least found remarkable.

The commander only nodded, knowing there was no way he would be able to go back to the reports before he had this over and done with, it would be rather ill-mannered not to meet with a visitor that bothered to come all the way to the Wall.

This was all Jols needed for confirmation before he stepped aside and let Nouri enter.

"Yes?" Arthur urged while he looked at the visitor, still mighty bored though maybe a little less so now, wondering why this boy had come to visit him.

Nouri too were in the process of wonder, silently asking if this was the Great Arthur Castus who was spoken so highly of in Rome. When no answer came to the unspoken question Nouri took out a small package and a letter from one of the cloak's many hidden pockets.

"Pelagius bid me bring this to you," Nouri said, taking a small step forwards to hand him the two objects.

The visitor's cloak hadn't fallen back again after the objects had been removed from its pocket because it had beeen caught behind the sword-hilt, the movement only drew attention to the scabbard and Arthur couldn't help staring, it was practically identical to his own.

"Thank you," he absentmindedly said as he received both letter and package putting them down at the desk in front of him, but his eyes were at the sword's hilt. "Excuse me, your sword..."

"It was my fathers," Nouri explained with a sad smile, "I carry it in a way of honouring his memory."

"I'm sorry to hear he is dead." Arthur said, wondering if the young boy in front of him might be a Sarmatian. It somehow would make sense to him, but if he was wrong it would be very awkward.

"Were your father stationed here in Britannia?" he finally asked, because the silence was drawing on. He has probably been in contact with some of the more strict commanders, Arthur thought to himself, when it became obvious his visitor would say no more without encouragement.

"Yes he was, in fact, he was stationed here at Badon Hill - why do you ask?"

Arthur motioned towards a sword that was leaned against the wall next to the door in its scabbard, with a nod he told his visitor to fetch it for him, he had been too bored for too long to stand up, though this mystery brought him a new burst of energy.

As Nouri picked up the sword Arthur could see that the visitor too had noticed the great similarity between the two swords. He imagined that they were about the same size too and the same weight then obviously.

"Excalibur..." his visitor breathed as a realisation dawned on Nouri and their eyes locked.

"How did you know?" Arthur asked, growing more interested by the second, this was definitely a mystery worth solving.

"My father spoke of this sword, it is the 'companion' to Caladbold which I carry." Nouri paused and handed Arthur the sword, their eyes still pouring into one another's. "He spoke often of it and Uther Pendragon, well at least to me he spoke of it, but my father was an awfully quiet man otherwise to be honest."

A thought crossed Arthur's face and Nouri broke the stare as his face lit up as from the inside. All thoughts of boredom and watch reports all but blown away now, that all could wait for later.

"If my father knew yours they must have sparred together, so come, let us spar like friends as they oft must have!"

* * *

Wooha! This was fun writing, but about halfway through I was starting to get annoyed with myself and practically everything (add embarrassed laughter here), though, I'm sure what annoyed me to write has at least to a slight degree annoyed and confused you to read. I promise that it will be explained in the next chapter - promise x5! 

Sag is Iranian/Persian for dog, I'm using Iranian/Persian/Farsi to represent the Sarmatian tongue. Caladbold is the name of King Arthur's sword in the Irish tradition (and that is the older version of the sword legend), the name have almost the same meaning as Excalibur and hints at something that has been fetch from a the water (at least in Magyar language, some British scholars would disagree of course).

**Elfvamp1-13-97:** Yay, my first review - thank you! Hope you liked this chapter as well, it doesn't have as much history in it, but I've tried my very best.

**FlamezBlaze1:** Thank you!

**Ailis-70:** Thank you, I'm happy you like it! I guess I see the story played as a movie inside my head and it's that I try to capture and put down in words. I've already written half of chapter 2 so that should be up tomorrow I hope.

**Don't forget to review, this is after all my very first fanfic so all comments are welcome!**


	3. Chapter II

**UNFINISHED**  
by VINTERSORG

_Feel the might  
Inside of you  
Raise your blade  
It's time to fight  
I heard the sword's song  
And it sang to me  
Both the iron, the will  
Under my control_  
- Battlelore

- - -

**Chapter II**

The song of swords cutting the midday air and the ring of metal upon metal could be heard from the training-grounds. Outside the fortress wall birds sang as if they too thought the melody of Excalibur and Caladbold meeting again after so many years a beautiful symphony.

A large crowed had already been gathered to watch Arthur and Nouri spar. Jols and a few of the other squires followed the combatants' every move with full concentration, they would later go back to their chores and dream about being real knights, but that was not before the two sword-fighters had stopped their swinging and slashing. A few Roman soldiers watch the sparing match excitedly as well while betting high and low on either Arthur or 'the boy'.

The few knights that were still at the milecastle hurried over from different parts of the fort to see what all the commotion was about. Gareth who had made his way over to the large sand area among the first grinned widely at Pellinore, Kay and Bedivere who all came a moment later.

"The kid got potential," he offered as Nouri attacked with a high guard, making Arthur back up two steps not to loose balance.

"Think he's a new recruit? " Bedivere asked the large, bearded knight to his right, nodding when Gareth only shrugged his shoulders in answer.

"Dunno, but he's good with the sword," he agreed, "Maybe, if he manages to beat Arthur..."

"As if that would happen in a million years," Kay decided with a dark frown. He had lost two brothers during the years and didn't like the idea of new young knights that would only die. "Nay, he'll screw up in a moment or two, just you wait and see."

"Who will what?" Peredur asked with a confused expression on his face as he followed Dagonet to stand among the other knights. He had heard the ring of swords and the chattering of the Roman soldiers, but the sight of the two sword-fighters were still like a revelation to him. The match seemed more like a dance than an actual sparing game, it was like both combatants knew the other's moves long before they stroke, it was quite beautiful to watch.

"Wooha, who's the boy?"

"That's what we're asking ourselves right now," Pellinore sighed, letting his eyes follow Arthur as the commander's attack got skilfully parried by the other fighter. A moment later he danced away from a stroke that would have cleaved him in two unless he had moved.

What confused the knights even more than the fact that Arthur and the other fighter seemed to know each other's moves was that they used such force when sparring as if they just knew the other one would manage to ward it off. Neither combatant spoke, but sometimes they smiled and grinned at each other as if it all was a great game.

An hour and a half into the match Arthur began to visually tire, his moves wasn't as perfect and his breathing was harder too. Nouri on the other hand didn't seem tired at all, but made still sure to adjust every move to the commander's now slightly slower and strained movements.

Their swords clashed a few times more before Arthur attacked again, but this time he was not fast enough as Nouri took a step to the side and swung Caladbold in an arch from below his sword. Excalibur was knocked out of his hands and flew through the air only to land a few feet behind Nouri, with a quick move by the younger fighter Arthur laid knocked to the ground breathing harder yet. He looked up at the other one who now stood above him at his head with the tip of Caladbold to his throat inclined towards Nouri.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Nouri warned with an amused quality to the voice, smiling down at Arthur who's hands had moved to the back or Nouri's boots as if he planed on pulling the other fighter to the ground as well.

"And why wouldn't I?" the commander asked, equally amused.

"Your funeral, mate," was the laughed response, "The way I hold the sword will make it stab into your throat if I fall."

"Good thing you told me," Arthur smiled as Nouri went off to pick up his sword from where it had fallen.

"No problem," the other smiled back as a hand was offered to him and he was pulled to his feet. He nodded his head in thanks as Nouri handed him back his sword.

"You certainly know how to use a sword," he praised and sheathed Excalibur, nodding a silent greeting to his knights as they made their way over to the two combatants. "I was a bit too bored earlier to ask your name, though it didn't even cross my mind for some strange reason until now when I coudn't speak it..."

The other regarded him for a moment, deciding on how hard she would let him fall in a metaphoric kind of way. He had already been beaten by someone years younger than him.

"Nourikka," she finally said, almost laughing out loud when she saw this new piece of information register and show on his face. "But you can call me Nouri, it sounds less... girlie."

The knights too seemed shocked to find out that what they had thought to be a young boy for the better of an hour was actually was a woman; now they felt slightly ashamed at themselves for not having been able to spot it, she was a very pretty woman with a face that could battle the old Grecian statues for beauty. The only one who didn't seem as upset with the whole thing was Dagonet who on the other hand seemed to be searching for something buried deeply within his memory.

"Bors' Nourikka?" the giant knight finally asked, trying to find anything on her face and figure that would confirm his question even before she answered it. But the knight found nothing.

"I belong to no-one," she snorted annoyed, "But yes, I am Bors' sister."

"_That_ Nourikka!" Arthur exclaimed as if he knew of others named the same, which was practically absurd as the man had never really met a Sarmatian woman until today.

"So, you're a ghost?" Pellinore, who was the youngest of the knights assembled there on the training-ground, asked; somehow missing the absurdity of his question, only noticing something was wrong when Peredur, Gareth and Kay began to laugh.

"Do I look like the ghost of a little girl to you?" the woman replied with mock anger to the young man who must have around her age.

"Well, not really," he admitted when the laughter of his fellow knights became almost too much for him. "But maybe ghosts grow just like normal people do, too..."

This only made the three knights send another volley of laugher across the sand area, even Dagonet grinned and shook his head and Arthur smiled.

"You seem to be very much alive, Nouri," decided Arthur when the knights finally calmed down. "You might not know that Bors is stationed here," he continued, not knowing if the woman in front of him knew that all his knights had been hand picked from auxiliary unites all over the Roman empire. Bors he had encountered in Londinium where Arthur and Lancelot had seen him in a taverna fight and decided he'd make a great addition to the growing brotherhood of knights.

"He's out a mission, though," the commander added quickly, "But he'll be back in two weeks, you could stay and wait."

He was unable to read the look on the woman's face, her eyes almost said _deja vu_ and he couldn't for the world understand why. Then it occurred to him that she didn't look like your typical messenger and definitely not your typical woman. Arthur had never met a woman who travelled alone, nor knew how to wield a sword. Maybe she had known all along and had a reason not to bother.

"I'm leaving tonight," she replied, almost annoyed.

Kay opened his mouth to say something, he was against everything that would hurt one of his 'brothers' and Bors was no exception. Though loud and obnoxious Bors had a heart of pure gold and he was in some strange way the spirit of their knightly-brotherhood.

Nouri cut him off even before he started speaking, she held up her hands and talked faster than usual, but managed not to stumble over her words.

"I'd be grateful if you don't mention to Bors I've been here. I still got a few things to take care of in Rome," she sighed when she saw the shocked faces around her. She knew they were looking out for her brother and she figured that it would mean a lot to him knowing he did have at least part of his old family left alive. "But I come back... One day."

"We won't tell," Dagonet decided for them all, but he crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture that said he did not like this one bit.

"What kind of things?" Arthur pried, in a way he felt like he knew this woman inside out and had known she wouldn't stay long. He also felt like he knew what and who she was, in a way that made him feel uneven. He'd known this woman for what, a couple of hours? And yet he felt like he'd known her his entire life and felt like she was his long lost sister.

"Just business, Art, nothing you should worry about." she chuckled, feeling the same kind of bond that he felt, but she didn't think it strange. On the contrary, she thought it was most naturally.

"It's not you I'm worried about," he countered with a rare smile, "It's your 'business' I pity."

From the tavern Vanora yelled that supper was ready and the confused knights hurried off as a group to get away from the two mentally deranged people that was now mock arguing about something or other.

- - -

As evening fell at Badon Hill and the stars begun to wake up from their long nap Nouri led her black gelding out of the stable gates. Arthur walked on the other side of Sag, absentminded stroking the large animal's neck.

The two had spoke together since supper like a brother and sister who hadn't seen each other in a very long time. To Arthur that felt strange at first, but once he learnt the name of Nouri's and Bors' father it had all fallen to place. He had even understood why he considered Bors an older brother and let the boisterous knight give him 'good advice' on this and that in his private life.

Kardok had been Uther's cousin, second in command and best friend, almost like he and Lancelot were. Nouri had been her father's favourite child, the one he wanted to be everything he hadn't been able to be. Arthur had been the same to his father, but differently as his father had wanted Arthur to be a better man than he had been. As a child Arthur hadn't understood this and he still didn't, but had soaked up every word Pelagius had said about being an honourable man like a sponge and his father would have been proud of the man he had become. If Kardok had been proud of the person Nouri had become was another story. She had like her father wished travelled around all the known world and followed her heart and own head, but she had become a sword for hire to pay for the many expenses a travelling life such as hers inevitably brought with it.

"I have a few things to do until I return," she repeated from before. They had spoke about this too and he knew that if he had be been in her shoes he too would have wished for revenge on those who had taken his family away from him. In a way he did take that revenge every time he and his knights encountered the Woads, he took an inhuman pleasure in killing as many of the blue painted warriors as he could. He had of course only hinted of this to Nouri, but she had understood.

"Come in time for our last mission," Arthur urged as the woman mounted her horse and collected the rains in her hands. "With his luck..."

"It is best I'm here to make sure he gets through it in one piece." Nouri laughed and looked down at her new found friend.

"Exactly."

"You won't tell him, will you?" even though Dagonet had reassured her none of them would even breath a word about her visit she was still worried they would, she didn't want to hurt her brother by letting him know she had been too busy to stay and say hello.

"We promised - knights' honour - don't worry." he said and put his hand above his heart, "Remember you promised as well."

"Before your last mission, I'll be here."

The two nodded in a agreement and she urged her horse into a trot before she rode out through the gates of the milecastle.

* * *

Blah, I think my chapters are too short and this one in particular gave me a headache. I'll try make up for it in the next one (expect something bautosarious shaped! Uhm... okay, on a second thought maybe not...)! That may take a bit longer than my previous updates though, because I'm going to stay at my mum's place for a few days, leaving later today (it's really nice not to have to look after yourself for a few days and the bf can take care of the cat). 

• Nuri is an old Jewish name, I think and that's where I got the name Nourikka from (don't ask how my head works, not even I am sure of it sometimes).

**dellis:** Thank you, I'm doing my best :) I hope the historical parts are accurate as well, most of the info has been taken from the internet, but I've also found some in books and lexicons.

**FlamezBlaze1:** Yes, I had a feeling it would be slightly confusing and I guess the first and larger part half of this chapter was too, but I hope it's all a bit more clear now!

**Babaksmiles:** Thank you! The whole ethnical thing has confused me too. In the novelisation it says that his mother was a Briton and his father was a Sarmatian knight, but he's still call 'Roman' from time to time... So I went on the line of him being a Roman citizen (warriors in the auxiliary units, like the Sarmatian Cavalry, weren't) and because that would make a bit more sense to me.

**Don't forget to review, this is after all my very first fanfic so all comments are more than welcome!**


	4. Chapter III

**UNFINISHED**  
by VINTERSORG

_Carry on my wayward child  
For there'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Now don't you cry no more_  
- Kansas

- - -

**Chapter III**  
- 3 years later -

The sun was setting when eight men stood around a newly dug mound at the knights' graveyard at Badon Hill, during the three years since a strange rider had rode past and held a silent moment for the many Sarmatian warriors that lay beneath the hundreds of grave-mounds five more knights has died. The men gathered there now was burying the fifth of them, Pellinore, who was Gawain's younger brother.

The air was growing colder and winter was around the corner. They were all waiting for Gawain to say a few words, but every time the long haired knight tried to open his mouth nothing came out. On his seventh try a small sob escaped him and his cousin Galahad, who stood to his left, put a hand on his shoulder to make him know it was okay to cry.

"He was a proud man and a fierce warrior," Lancelot finally said when it became apparent to him that Gawain would not be able to say any last words of his fallen brother. "Now he walks among his equals - the heroes of old."

The other knights nodded in agreement to the dark knight's words, even Gawain seemed to pull himself together to a sad smile in way of thanks to Lancelot for taking his place. Every knight made sure to touch Gawain's back as they walked past him and away from the grave.

Tristran was the first to straighten his neck and listen carefully into the air. The sound of horse hooves pounding the ground could be heard not too far off. A few moments passed as the knights walked towards the road that went past the graveyard before they saw a rider break down to a trot, then to a walking pace until the large, black horse stood completely still as if it had magically grown roots in that exact spot.

When Arthur saw the rider he immediately recognised the horse and he lengthened his step, stopping at the edge of the graveyard, a few feet away from the rider who nodded a silent greeting in respect of the newly buried knight.

"Hello Nouri, it's been a while. Did you get whatever you planned to get done done?" Arthur babbled, very happy to see the woman again, he had begun to suspect she had broken her word and would never return.

"Yes, Art, I did." she answered quietly before dismounting, not prepared for the hug the Roman pulled her into, but she answered it nonetheless.

She smiled slightly as he released her and took a step back to look at her. Arthur noticed that she still looked very much like a young boy, but he figured it must be the armour and that he still hadn't met another female warrior. The other knights had by now caught up with Arthur, save for Gawain and Galahas who had stayed by Pellinore's grave.

Nouri looked past Arthur's shoulder at the knights and felt a pang of something remarkably close to sadness when she only recognising Dagonet from last time. She wanted to ask if these were all the knights that was left of the initial one hundred, but she knew that they were and that it would hurt them deeply if she asked the question.

"So my friend," Arthur said, and she could see that the knights was surprised at his words, no-one really knew what he was going about at and Dagonet feared that Arthur might have gone just as crazy as he did the last time Nouri had visited. "You arrived just in time."

She nodded, but there was something haunted and sad in her eyes when she did so. Arthur couldn't place it and that made him feel just as uneven as he had felt when he had come to the conclusion that he knew a person he had never met before.

"What's the matter?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder in a brotherly manner.

"There's something I need to tell you, but not here." She finally answered, taking a deep breath before continuing. "It's something you won't take too well I'm afraid and I got a feeling you would need a chair close by."

"Nouri?" the commander asked concerned, but something in his voice told her he wanted her to tell him what it was that instance. He was a man who didn't like long waits if he could help it.

"A chair, Arthur." The woman persisted, putting her hand on the arm he still held at her shoulder.

"Nourikka, I'm not a little boy." he suddenly snarled, annoyed at his friend for suggesting that he was weak in anyway. He had seen his mother burn to death right before his eyes, unable to do anything, he had lived through that and now he could handle anything.

Upon hearing the name and not only the nickname Arthur had called the rider Bors looked up as if he was a marionette and his master had pulled at the string that was connected to his head. He stared straight at the woman who stood right in front of Arthur, wondering why he hadn't noticed anything before. She had their father's eyes and his hair, though hers reached well beneath her shoulders while Kardok's had been cut right above them. The same kind of face, though a lot more feminine, her jaws weren't as strong and her chin was sharp instead of ending in a dimple like their father's had.

"Trust me on this one, my friend." Nouri begged the Roman quietly, holding his gaze until he nodded.

"You... you can't be..." Bors almost stuttered in disbelief and Nouri's eyes moved to look at the short and stocky man.

"Bors?" she asked, her eyes wide as she looked at him. He looked the same, but not. Fifteen years could do that to a man she figured. When she last had seen him he had been sixteen, a young man with long hair and a beard. It looked like hell and didn't fit him any, but he hadn't cared because mother had said that that was how a Sarmatian man should look like. She wondered what had made him change his mind about it. Maybe some woman had told him her thoughts about his looks, Nouri thought amused.

She wasn't prepared either when Bors swept her into a bear-hug, absolutely crushing her against him. She was sure she wasn't getting any oxygen and was almost relieved when the stocky man released his hold on her. Well, he let her stand on her own two feet at least, but his arms were still around her in a protective manner.

"How do you know Arthur?" he asked a bit louder than he had to, glaring down at his sister. Before she could open her mouth he changed his mind, "No wait."

"How in the bloodiest of hells do you know my sister?" Bors corrected, yelling at Arthur now, almost biting Lancelot's nose off when he started to laugh.

- - -

The walk to the milecastle had been slightly surreal everyone agreed, the first few minutes Nouri had to assure Bors that she in fact very much alive and not some kind of ghost, dream or illusion. The next couple of minutes she had to explain to him, as had Arthur and Dagonet, why she hadn't come visited earlier or why he hadn't heard about it. The last ten minutes they had all laughed and joked as if nothing had happened and they'd never been apart, though everybody knew Bors was still slightly miffed that she hadn't stayed and said hello to him last time.

When the group of siblings, cousins, knights and brothers-in-arms reached the stables Jols exited and made his way over to the crowed. Everybody wondered if the man had been waiting on their return and this was an ambush of some sort, or maybe the man just knew on some subconscious level that they were around.

"Nouri!" the once young man shouted excited-like when he saw her and the large horse, "You're back!"

"Hello Jols," she greeted back, amused at his excitement, remembering that she had promised to tell him more about her travels and 'adventures' when she returned. He had grown and was not as young as he had been back then three years ago.

He had been sixteen then, or so he had told her, but he still acted like a boy. Maybe it was the fact he was a 'lowly squire', as he himself had put it, and not a 'great knight' who got to fight and do interesting things. She knew that all he and the other squires ever wanted to be was knights; he hadn't told her that, but she had guessed it from the way they had watched hers and Arthur's sparing match and from his thirst for good battle-stories.

"I'll be in my study," Arthur told the woman as she and Jols walked through the gates to the stable square, she nodded to tell him she would meet him later.

"Good," he decided and turned to Jols, "Jols, find her a room in the barracks."

"I will, Arthur," the squire answered. It always gave him a thrill to say the commander's name, made him feel kind of important to be allowed to do so, but he was always careful not to let it show on his face or in his voice to avoid ridicule from the knights.

- - -

The oil lamp spread a flickering light over the report Arthur was writing at his desk. He had decided to start writing his final report, the one that was going to sum up all the long years he and his knights had spent at Badon Hill.

Silently he asked himself how he should put it down into words, all the missions he and the knights had been out on, all the knights that had died during those missions. Arthur could clearly see the faces of all of them, he could remember every name and the melody of all of their voices as if it was just yesterday they had gathered in the fortress main hall for the first time.

He hadn't thought this was going to be a hard report to write, he had written hundreds of reports on practically everything from how much grain they had in the granaries to how often they had to empty the lavatory to how many soldiers had died. Though, somehow summing it all up seemed to be a whole lot harder.

A knock on the door disturbs his thoughts and he was thankful it had as he bides the person on the other side enter. He pushed the parchment away and nodded at a chair across from his desk to let Nouri know she could sit there when she had entered and closed the door.

They stayed in a pleasant silence a few moments. The calm before the storm she thought, wondering if it was smart to tell him this and what he would think if he knew why she even asked herself that. He didn't know what to think about it really, because just like her brother Bors Nouri could talk about practically anything at any time.

"There's no good way to begin this," she finally began after taking a deep breath. "But seeing as out fathers were best friends and I count you as a friend of mine also there is no way for me not to tell you."

"Tell me what?" was the confused reply she got from the man across from her. She had hoped he would just keep quiet and let her get done with it in her own pace.

Wasn't it enough that she was more or less ordered to be there and what she was going to tell him was a sneaky way of dirtying someone ease's hands? She sighed and looked down at her hands as they lay on her lap, she felt guilty somehow and wondered why. She would have been here telling him the same thing she was about to tell him now even if she hadn't been told to do so by those Roman jerks; but now she felt as if she was lying and keeping him in the dark about something.

"Whatever it is I would suggest you start at the beginning," the man joked in an attempt to lighten her spirits, she seemed so lost as she sat there searching for words.

"Of course," she smiled briefly at him before her eyes returned to her hands. "But there is more than one beginning to this," she paused again, this time she looked up at the man across the desk that she had begun to consider a friend and brother during the few hours she was at Badon Hill last time. This time she didn't let her eyes fall back at her hands, instead she held his gaze as she spoke. "But I think I know where to start."

"You know that the Roman Mother Church holds strongly to Augustine's doctrine of original sin," her eyes still firmly on Arthur who had no idea where this was going, but now he didn't feel as sure about not needing a chair and was rather happy he was in one. "That man's nature is tainted by the sin of Adam and Eve and because of this can only inherit either hell or damnation. That you only through the Church can gain salvation; that some men are born to be slaves or become surfs because it is the will of God."

"Pelagius says,--" Arthur began, confused about what this theological lecture could mean, he was cut off by Nouri who was not quite finished yet.

"Shh... Pelagius was a good man who didn't believe in this, I know that as well as you do. His teachings on free will and equality has won a great following in Rome - especially among common people and slaves. Pelagians still exist, but..." her voice hitched and she had to take a calming breath before she dared to continue. Arthur didn't interrupt her again, he just sat still as death wondering why she had said 'was a good man' and 'Pelagians still exists'.

"But less than a year past some bishops had him excommunicated and later killed - Gnaeus Germanus was one of the men behind it."

"Dead... I can't believe it..." Arthur breathed, his eyes lowering as it sunk in. He knew she hadn't lied, he had seen no lie in her eyes as she had spoken, but it was a hard blow to everything he had ever believe in.

"Arthur," Nouri tried to reach out to him, she had heard him speak of Pelagius when she was visited Badon Hill three years ago and knew the man was as close to him as a father. She as well as the men that had told her to come here now knew that the Church would make sure he got no word of his mentor's death, they needed him as a pawn more than an angered fly that was going to annoy them and get in their eyes.

"The Rome that Pelagius wished for and dreamed of doesn't exist. There was a dream that was Rome, but when the first emperor was coronated that dream was destroyed. Rome, as it should have been, have been dead for hundreds of years - politics and the Christian Church rules it now - the Senate and the Emperor are just puppets kept to allow the people their traditions."

Nouri finally stood, wanting to leave her friend to his mourning. Pelagius had spoke highly of Arthur, his young friend or young charge as he called him with fondness. She had promised Pelagius as she met him last, just after the Church had shut him out and he knew he would die, that she would look after Arthur for him and make sure the other Pelagians wouldn't do anything stupid. 'Stupid,' he had told her, 'is what young children and warriors do.'

"I'm so sorry," Nouri whispered as she began to walk to the door, her voice was thick with unshed tears and she wondered if she would ever allow herself to cry over anyone. She couldn't remember ever crying and it made her feel cold and inhuman.

"No," she heard Arthur say, stopping her from going any further, "Wait."

- - -

An hour later Nouri left Arthur's study, they had talked about everything between the earth and the sky, but mainly Pelagius. She had told him what Pelagius had told her and even though she herself had guessed what he meant she had let Arthur figure it out on his own. Still, even though she hadn't lied it had made her feel awful, just as if she was a puppet in someone political agenda. With a sigh she figured she was and she had let herself be, but even if she hadn't this would have happened, it was rather inevitable.

Half a minute later, as the fresh air outdoors washed over her face, she was feeling like her normal and happy self again - a trait she had inherited from her mother. No matter how angry or upset she had been a moments earlier it would pass like a small cloud across a summer sky.

Her head was bowed and her pace rather quick as she hurried to find Jols and ask him where he had put her saddlebags and her armour. She had let him take them to the room he had found for her when she had walked to Arthur's study almost two hours earlier.

In mid-stride her walk was abruptly stopped as she walked into someone, she was not really prepared for this and fell on her arse. Instead of becoming angry at either herself or whoever she had walked into she began to joke about it.

"Who the bloody hell put a wall there?" she asked in mock anger, "Can't be a very practical location for a wall!"

She looked up to see Dagonet chuckle softly as he offered her his hand and helped her to her feet, she couldn't help to smile as he did so. He was one of those quiet people, she knew this from the last time she had been at the fort, he had only spoken when the other knights urged him to and once or twice on his own. She wondered if it was because he was shy or if he just din't had anything interesting to say.

"Thanks, I bet I'm not the only woman who crawls at your feet!" she joked when he had helped her up.

"I'm sorry..." he blushed. He was rather comfortable around the bar-wenches, but Nouri wasn't one of them. The other knights had acted as she was one of them when they walked back from the graveyard earlier and when she wore her armour it was easy to mistake her for a young knight. Now on the other hand, out of armour she looked like a woman - a respectable woman. One could almost pretend that her long riding-shirt was a dress, though only almost, as it was a male garment after all.

"Don't worry, big guy," she laughed, mistaking his discomfort for shyness, "I'm tougher than I look."

"I know that." Dagonet smiled, "Bors would like to see you."

"You're his errand-boy then?" Nouri asked with one eyebrow arched, he knew she was still joking around; her jokes were more obvious than Bors and he thanked the gods for that.

"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny," he answered and made sure his mock laughs sounded as bored and dry as possible.

"Just checking," she smiled and let herself be led down the way from where he came.

* * *

Sigh, beside the prologue I like this chapter the best - at least this far. It's a bit longer than my previous chapters, isn't it? (is so happy she can't think of anything else to write here) Oh, and by the way, I'M BACK! 

• Yes, it should have been "Carry on my wayward _son_", but artistic freedom and all that, you know (sticks her tongue out).

• Augustine is of course S:t Augustine, but he hadn't been sainted yet (I think). Just like Pelagius he was a man who had converted to Christianity. He was the Bishop of Hippo in North Africa (354-430 A.D.) and is one of the "Fathers" of the Roman Catholic Church. I've done my research!

**FlamezBlaze1:** It was pretty obvious, wasn't it? (laughs) Thank you, I'll try to have the next chapter finished and online by tomorrow!

**Babaksmiles:** No, _thank you_ for commenting again! (is very happy) Yeah, in my story he's just a Roman citizen, not ethnically Roman. I still curse the day when I decided to read the novelisation, it cleared out a few things but confused others! (laughs)

**I got a new story in the works!** A TristranOC story, with _romance_ as the primary genre - wow. It's called "Just Beyond Time" and I've put up the prologue and first chapter, please check it out too!

(You could have ignored this paragraph, I just need to rant a bit.) I would just like to say that my mum is the most amazing person in this _entire world_. I love her, she's the strongest person I've encountered during my twenty years of life and that is saying a lot! She raised me and my sister when my dad left because he couldn't handle it and she is **the original iron mum**(tm). I felt a bit bad about staying with her and my sister because mum obviously has a whole lot of work to do and my sister doesn't help any by being the obnoxious teenager she is. My sister has reached, even before I moved out to live with my bf, the stage physiologists call the _adolescence_, which is when a person mature mentally in opposite to physically. She's a bit late seeing as she was sixteen when she started and is still in the process of breaking free. Anyhow they fight like cats and dogs, something that I hate. I hate it when people fight, me and my bf fight all the time too but we're like Bors and Vanora so we make up quickly. My sister on the other hand is stubborn and could hold a grudge passed Armageddon if she so pleased. So I did my very best not to be a nuisance and tried to help out with all the house work, meaning: my so called three day vacation was cancelled.

**Don't forget to review, this is after all my very first fanfic and all comments are very much welcomed!**


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